‚ÄúI can do that,‚Äù said Mrs. ¬ÝVanderpool slowly.
“It will cost something,” said Zora.
“I will do it,” was the lady’s firm assurance. Zora kissed her.
The next afternoon Mrs. ¬ÝCresswell went down to a white social settlement of which Congressman Todd had spoken, where a meeting of the Civic Club was to be held.
She had come painfully to realize that if she was to have a career she must make it for herself. The plain, unwelcome truth was that her husband had no great interests in life in which she could find permanent pleasure.
Companionship and love there was and, she told herself, always would be; but in some respects their lives must flow in two streams. Last night, for the second time, she had irritated him; he had spoken almost harshly to her, and she knew she must brood or work today. And so she hunted work, eagerly.
She felt the atmosphere the moment she entered.
There were carelessly gowned women and men smart and shabby, but none of them were thinking of clothes nor even of one another. They had great deeds in mind; they were scanning the earth; they were toiling for men.
The same grim excitement that sends smaller souls hunting for birds and rabbits and lions, had sent them hunting the enemies of mankind: they were bent to the chase, scenting the game, knowing the infinite meaning of their hunt and the glory of victory.
Mary Cresswell had listened but a half hour before her world seemed so small and sordid and narrow, so trivial, that a sense of shame spread over her. These people were not only earnest, but expert. They acknowledged the need of Mr. ¬ÝTodd‚Äôs educational bill.